


I'll Do What Body Loves

by Coffin Liqueur (HP_Lovecats)



Category: Benny Lava (Misheard Lyrics Video)
Genre: BDSM, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, F/M, I'm Writing A Frickin' Erotica Fic For A Misheard Lyrics Video, M/M, Marijuana, My Options Are Either That Or Just Plain Crack, Naughty Nuns, Object Insertion, Porn Watching, Sex Work, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HP_Lovecats/pseuds/Coffin%20Liqueur
Summary: Haveyoubeen high today?
Relationships: Benny Lava/Belinda, Donna/Belinda (Benny Lava)
Kudos: 2
Collections: Be The First! 2020





	I'll Do What Body Loves

**Author's Note:**

> The misheard lyrics video in question is [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdyC1BrQd6g).
> 
> Mmmmyup.

Belinda and Donna posed for the thumbnail.

The light was dim, but the room was decorated for the superficial impression of opulence; evening light scattered about them and caught on the gold and ivory of the furnishings - the bookcases, the statuettes of praying angels, the ornamental crucifixes Donna had gathered from antique shops and markets, and the bedposts, framing Donna herself ever-so-artfully where she sat between them at the edge of the mattress, legs gracefully crossed, leaning back on one hand; she lifted the loop of a leather leash in the other, which trailed down to the collar around Belinda’s neck. Belinda lay on the floor before her, in what she liked to consider a _sexy mermaid_ post - propped up on her elbows, legs kicked up behind her and crossed at the ankles.

Both were wearing nothing but nuns’ veils.

Belinda, in a soft flick of movement, looked up to Donna, for an instant. Her eyes were half-lidded. She flittered on a Mona Lisa smile.

Donna looked down to her, eyes smoldering, her own smile deeper.

A mere quarter-second apart, they looked up to the tripod in front of them as the timer went off; the camera _clacked_ and hissed.

And, practiced, Donna immediately kicked her legs uncrossed and stood. Strode to the first of the dozen cameras framing the bed, at the corners, at the room’s edges, placed level on shelves and tables and near ceiling-level, looking down. She held the leash onward, jaunty, at shoulder level.

And Belinda, still smiling, _most dutifully_ trailed along, the slightest skip in her step.

* * *

Under the eyes of all cameras rolling, Belinda cried out.

She cried out, again, and again, and again, in a heightening, swelling crescendo. Lifting like her stomach as her back arched deep, breasts framed with dots of wax that have trailed into a still-warm pool between them and wrists tugging simply as a matter of course at the silk binding them to the head of the bed. Her mouth rounded, her eyes turned skyward, and every time she felt the blunted edges of the base of the crucifix trail back deep inside her, she swept into her moans a “God”, or “Lord”. It was utterly cheesy, certainly, and Belinda thought that the point; it was a bit of chintzy theatricality, and suppressing her inclination to smirk enhanced the doubling of this as private play, all in the end serving them.

Donna thrust the cross in and out of her faster; between Belinda’s cries, she heard her breath hissing, sizzling.

The most intense of seizes came of Belinda, as it did; she froze, her cries escalating into a flash-frozen shivering, willowy sigh, with the arch in her back flung to its deepest and her eyes risen high to the edge of the ceiling behind her. Her open legs twitched.

The movements of the cross stayed deep.

But they gradually slowed.

Slower, slower, as the heat gradually pooled out of Belinda’s system; she relaxed, beginning to settle to a soft limp against the mattress, her head turning aside and artfully angled.

Donna pressed the crucifix in again, slowly. Stopping at the crossbeam.

Then she left it.

She slinked up over Belinda like a panther, her veil pouring around her head and shoulders, shutting out the now-dim evening and the room’s candlelights like a canopy. Belinda’s eyes followed her in their corners, resisting the temptation to make the amateurish move of flicking them for confirmation of position to the camera rigged against the head of the bed. She suppressed a smirk again, feeling it only in the slightest tug in her cheeks to begin the motion to do it.

In between long, sighing breaths, she delivered her line. Sweepingly.

“Forgive me, sister,” she said. Letting it trail and breeze. “...ffffoooor I have sinned.”

“Cut.” Curt yet hearty; Donna smiled, her eyes lidded low.

It was almost with a flop that she rolled off the mattress; now openly smiling, herself, Belinda sat up, as much as she could, to watch her flit around the room to again tend to the cameras. Gave each of their positions a quick testing wiggle - to ensure they hadn’t come loose, Belinda assumed, before shutting each off and then turning back to her.

Belinda already knew the answer to the question when she asked, “Aren’t you gonna… untie me?” She wiggled her shoulders a little. “Or… take care of this now?” Her hips, this time, to draw attention to the cross.”

She knew the answer to this, too.

“...Or do you wanna try another take?”

The cameras had just been shut off.

“Oh, no. No.” Donna’s upper teeth showed in her grin; she shook her head in a tight, controlled drift. She took a step closer. Then another. “You… my dear… missed a line.”

“Oh, no,” Belinda half-parroted, eyes staying half-shut after a blink. She lay back; fidgeted her legs open wider in repeating tandem as Donna continued to approach.

A bedspring creaked, and Belinda steadily tipped her head back again, steadying a gentle chuckle vibrating in her chest with a long breath sipped in cool through her nose.

* * *

“Where’s this whole nun porn kick coming from?” Oliver laughed as Ben played the video.

Ben took a hit of the glass pipe. Pulled it away; blew a ring of smoke with just a tinge of whistling vocalization. He turned to Oliver, giving a long, languid chuckle.

“I’m liking this channel,” he said, slow, over a background of full-throated, rising moans. “Who am I to judge or… sneeze at it if their gimmick happens to be lesbian nuns?”

“Whoa - wonder how Ed’s gonna feel if he finds out about you cheating on him with lesbian porn stars?”

“I already sent him a link.” Ben smiled deep, deep self-satisfaction. The warm burn of the weed in his chest found itself falling under a secondary layer, from some other source. “All I can say is he’s a fan, too.”

Oliver scoffed.

The girl on the bottom screamed.

“Sounds like I missed something good,” Ben muttered, turning his computer chair forward-facing again, as Oliver picked the pipe out of his raised fingers.

An inhale.

A low, blowsy exhale.

“...Long as he’s happy, I guess,” Oliver said, slightly burnt at the edges.

The corner of Ben’s mouth twitched. “If you’re so frickin’ concerned about that, we’ve got room for more, you know.”

Oliver’s laugh was utterly, utterly stoned. “Nah, Ben… I’m not gonna -- gonna get into something three-way with my brother’s boyfriend. ‘Cause then… that’d be kinda like dating you, right? Pffheh -- you guys are... you guys are a good-looking couple anyway; I'm not gonna ruin it for you...”

...Or maybe it was Ben’s own mind, slowing things down.

Ha… he did not care.

He simply enjoyed feeling the oddity and incongruity of so consciously feeling and watching his fingers fly to keys he knew the placements of by heart.

“...Are you saying that because _you’d_ be into that?” Oliver’s voice hiked up to a quizzical cracking point.

 **BennyLava** typed, into a comment, _you girls are my favorite channel right now. ;) Looking good_

He hit send. When his perceptions and intentions slid back into the same place for a moment, he noticed with passive interest that he had actually sent that as a DM, rather than a comment. He raised an eyebrow, feeling like he ought to be wondering what difference it made.

He replayed the video, and sometime later, outside of his temporally-removed perspective, the message received a reply.

A _thank you_ with three exclamation points, _and_ a heart symbol, _and_ a winky-face, _and_ a good ol’ “xoxo”.

Signed, **BelleLinda**.

He misread it for a second, making himself cough out a laugh.

 _Haha… we have the same initials_ , he typed.

He might have fallen asleep there.


End file.
